


Lean, Mean, and Lantean

by boxparade



Series: Tomorrow Never Comes [3]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crossover, Drabble, F/M, Hawaii, Humor, Malasadas, Rare Pairing, angry!Kono
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:25:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxparade/pseuds/boxparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronon is scary. Kono is scarier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lean, Mean, and Lantean

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stop. ;-;

Kono stalks into the mess with purpose and determination, and she is damn well going to get what she came here for, or there will be blood. She doesn’t pause when the others scattered around tables take notice of her, and she walks right on by the rows of mystery fruit muffins and not-quite-chicken eggs and what looks like chocolate chip pancakes, and she has had it.

There’s a doorway leading into the kitchens, and she barges on through despite the protests of the kitchen staff and the wide-eyed stares. She keeps surging forward until she finds what she’s been looking for, a seemingly abandoned chunk of dough, slowly rising on the counter. With a sharp-eyed look at the kitchen staff, she grabs the dough, pats on some more basically-flour, and starts kneading.

It takes a damn long while before the kitchen staff decide to leave it be and get back to what they were doing, but by the time the last of them have stopped looking, she’s got a tray full of rolls of dough with whatever she could find that looked edible, and one quick scan of the room tells her that there’s a deep-frier at one of the stations, and immediately she dumps her tray in, kicking up the heat setting, and counting down the minutes on her watch (which wrongly informs her that it’s 0100 because they don’t have 24-hour days here and she hasn’t had the grumpy scientist guy fix her watch).

When they’re done, she ladles them out, goes on the warpath for some sugar to coat them in, and then promptly takes the whole tray, stalks over to the line where they serve the food, and slams it down under a heat lamp. The entire mess hall turns to her then, all other conversation dying down, and turning so that she’s half-facing the rest of the kitchen, she draws in a breath.

 _“These,_ ” she stabs a finger down at the tray, “are malasadas. It’s deep-fried dough with filling, coated in sugar. They are delicious, they are easy to make, and they are— _were,”_ she corrects herself, with a pang in her chest, “a staple food back in Hawai’i. And _you,”_ she points at the kitchen staff, all staring at her as if they don’t know what she’s blathering on about. “will make them, at least once a week, or I swear to god I will team up with Ronon, and _there. will. be. pain._ ” She pauses, mostly for dramatic effect, and narrows her eyes. “Understood?”

As soon as she snaps the last word, every one of the kitchen staff starts nodding furiously, and she gives it a moment before the tension bleeds out of her shoulders, and she says calmly “Good.”

Then, she grabs a malasada, shoves it in her mouth, and stalks right back out of the mess, leaving rows of gaping bystanders in her wake.

 

“Dude,” Brendon whispers conspiratorially to Ronon, leaning over his bowl of Atlantis Brand cereal and looking up at the man with wide, scared eyes. “Your girlfriend is _terrifying.”_

Ronon grins sharply, says “I know,” with a note of pride in his voice, and gets up to grab a ‘malasada’. He thinks they seem an awful lot like Earth’s ‘doughnuts’, but he—wisely—keeps this information to himself.


End file.
